The Unknown Artist
by lacinda
Summary: Captain Hastings world is turned upside down and only Hercule Poirot with the assistance of Miss Lemon can right it.


Disclaimer: I do not own Poirot or his world nor am I making a profit off of this story.

Title: The Unknown Artist

Summary: Captain Hastings world is turned upside down and only Hercule Poirot with the assistance of Miss Lemon and the help of Inspector Japp can right it.

Chapter 1: Hidden Talents Revealed

Captain Arthur Hastings was lodging with his long time friend Hercule Poirot. Cases were slow at the moment for his friend but things were going very well for him. A few of his long time investments had finally gone through and his income had increased considerable. Well, considerably for him at least.

He had gotten an itch recently to well, doodle. Well, that was what his mother called it. On occasion, he felt the urge to sketch and to sometimes paint. He usually felt this way when he was melloncally or happy. Something about putting his world on paper appealed to him. He did that when he wrote of course but it was different some how when he drew the world he saw. It meant more to him.

He should be happy. What with his finances being in good shape for once. And looking to stay that way but he was not. He was in love. To most people that would be a very good reason to be happy but not for Captain Hastings. No, his was an unrequited love. It was not returned, could not be. Not only did they not see him in that particular light but they where out of his league. The only good thing about the whole thing, thought Hastings, was that they had no idea he felt this way.

He would never tell them . Never say that he loved them. That his day began and ended thinking of them. He would die before saying any thing. After all, if they ever found out it would rune their friendship. No, he would never say any thing to Poirot about it.

So there he sat at Poirot dining table sketching. Miss Lemon was taking dictation from Poirot on his many correspondences in Poirot office. Hastings was so involved with his sketch that he did not notice when they had finished.

Miss Lemon gathered her pad and walked into her office. She was soon typing. Poirot mean while got up from his desk and went to see what had absorbed his dear friend Hastings that he had not interrupted them for lunch.

Poirot walked into the doorway of the dinning room. He saw his friend sitting at the table with is back to him. He cleared his throat but Hastings did not look up from his drawing. Curious he walked up behind were Hastings sat and looked at the sketch "Mon a me, Hastings."

Hastings jumped in his seat. "By God, Poirot you nearly scared me to death. What's the matter?"

"You draw my friend." said Poirot with interest.

Hasting looked perplexed, "What about it, old chap?"

The Belguim looked at his friend with foundness, "You draw well, my Hastings."

"What this, no, it isn't that good really." said Hastings with a short laugh.

Piorot shook his head, "My friend if this is not what you would call good, then I must see what you do say is good."

Hastings looked surprised at Poirot. Did he really mean that? Did Poirot honestly like his doodles? " Do you mean that?" he asked.

Smiling Piorot placed his hand on Hastings shoulder saying, "Yes my friend."

Hastings bit his bottom lip and then shrugged "Just a moment then."

He left the room and went into the one he was using at the moment. He got out his portfolio. In here he kept his favorite sketches, the ones that did not meet his standards he destroyed.

He went back into the dining area and handed Poirot the portfolio. Poirot sat down and with great care and curiosity opened the portfolio. Hastings sat back down and watched with butterflies in his stomach while Poirot took out each sketch carefully and studied it before going on to the next.

Poirot looked up when he was done with shock and joy on his face, "My friend have you shown these to any one."

Hasting shook his head sideways, "No, I've never shown my doodles to any one."

"Doodles! My friend you call these doodles. They are not doodles. They are art, Mon a me."

"You really think so?" asked Hastings perplexed.

"Yes!" shouted Poirot thumping the arm of his chair.

"Well I'll be." Hastings said with surprise.

Poirot asked Hastings if he had done any painting. Only a little was Hastings reply.

"If your little painting is as good as your bad sketches then they must be master pieces."

At this Hastings blushed, really Poirot was making a big deal out of nothing and he told him so.

Poirot looked shocked at Hastings. "My friend you are a skilled artist I can see this, even if you can not. I shall show these to an expert and you shall see."

"No!" shouted Hastings putting a hand on Poirot's arm to keep him from standing. "You can't!"

"Why not Hastings?"

Hastings gapped like a fish and blushed. "I showed you the sketches because you are my friend. I don't want. Or need any one else to see them. Truthfully, I'd rather not have any one see them. Poirot it would be like showing some one my private thoughts. This is how I see the world, Poirot. It is too personal to show just any one."

Poirot sat back down stunned. "Then I am Honored that you showed them to me My friend." he said patting Hastings hand that was still on his arm.

Hastings took his hand and placed it on the table as he sat back and watched while his friend put his doodles back into the portfolio.

* * *

Chapter 2: A Day at the Races

A few days latter Hastings talked Poirot and Miss Lemon into going to the Races for the Afternoon. It would break up the monotony of the week he said, what with no new cases coming in. It was a warm spring day. Hasting was feeling lucky. It was almost as if someone was writing a story and he new he was going to win today. So he made a few bets. After the fifth race not one horse he had picked had come even close to winning.

Deciding to give up on betting he sat back and watched a few races. Poirot was studying the racing table with Miss Lemon they were deciding who would come in last with out placing bets so he joined in. The day was almost over when Poirot made a comment on the last race, jokingly Hastings made the bet.

He had won, he meant they had won. He was in shock. He never won at the races. Not even on a small bets id he win, well hardly ever, but never any major money. Except now he had. By God, that was a lot of money.

Seeing his friends shock Poirot took Hastings to the betting window to collect his winnings. They then went straight to the bank.

At the bank the three friends argued. Hastings insisted they split the winnings three ways. Poirot and Miss Lemon refused the money. They wouldn't hear of splitting the money. It was Hasting who placed the bet. It was his money. In the end the full amount was placed in Hastings account.

The winnings paid for a lavish dinner that night. That at least the three friends could agree on.

At the restaurant Hasting turned to Poirot and asked him. "Poirot, old chap, you agree that it was your tip on the race that lead to me winning that bet?"

Poirot agreed with his English friend.

Hasting smiled, "Then wouldn't you say with my luck when it comes to betting and investing someone else should make the decisions?"

Hasting had said this as his friend was taking a sip of wine. Poirot nearly spewed his drink when he heard this. "My Friend!," he said, "I would never say such a thing."

Laughing Hasting said, "No you wouldn't. But I know you've thought it. If I could think of it. You with your 'little grey cells' undoubtedly have."

Poirot shook his head negatively, "My friend, you think too little of your self."

"Perhaps," Hasting said," but it would make me feel better if you'd look after the money I just won."

Poirot smiled at Hastings, "If it will make you feel better my friend."

Hasting smiled back at Piorot, "In that case in the morning we'll go back to the bank and put the money in your account."

Poirot looked affronted and threw done his napkin, "Hasting! You! You have tricked me!"

Hasting laughed again and raised his glass of wine towards Poirot. "To Friendship," he said.

"You are impossible, very well," said Poirot as he raised his glass, "To Friendship."

The two men turned to Miss Lemon. She was chuckling over their antics , "Ow, Mister Poirot, the Captain did out smart you this time." She took a deep breath and raised her glass as well, "To Friendship."

* * *

Chapter 3: A Case

Several months had past since the day at the races. Hastings investments were doing very well under his friend management, better in fact than he could imagine. He was quite proud over the fact that not only did he get Poirot to mange the money but to accept a percentage of the profits.

Poirot had just rapped up another successful case and was catching up on his correspondence while he read the mornings newspaper when the phone rang.

Neither man looked up from what they where doing, on the third ring Miss Lemon answered the phone. After a few moments she entered the office, "Inspector Japp is on the phone, Sir. He was wondering if you could help on a case, a murder he said."

"But of course Miss Lemon," said Poirot while standing. Hastings folded his newspaper asking if he could accompany him. "I would have it no other way." replied Poirot.

Miss Lemon came out of her office and handed Captain Hastings the address. "I've called for a car it should be here shortly." With that the two men headed out of the fifth floor flat to wait for the car below.

They arrived at the address fifteen minutes latter. Inspector Japp was waiting for them in front of the building. "Its on the second floor," began Japp while he walked them up, "Double murder: no witness. A woman Mrs. Jane Winters was sharing the flat with two of her nieces a Miss Sarah Evans and Miss Laura Brown. Mrs. Winters was found murdered this morning along side of a yet unidentified man." As he finished the three men entered the flat, in the front room was the two body's. A photograph bulb went off, causing Poirot to blink rapidly.

"That's enough of that," said Japp waving the photographer out of the room. "With a bit of luck," he said. "Someone can identify the picture once it is developed." Poirot nodded and looked closer at the bodies.

Hastings stepped back and tried to keep out of the way. Most of the time, he thought, I'm manly in the way but I do so like to see Poirot in his element. He watched as Poirot took in every detail in the room. Every once in a while asking Japp a question or two. When he was done they walked out of the flat and out onto the streets.

"Where are the two nieces?" asked Poirot as he studied his surroundings. "Across the street at the flat of one of their friends." Japp said. He began walking that way and Hasting and Poirot followed them.

Hastings asked where the two nieces were the night before. Japp huffed and said, "At a party all night according to them. At the flat where going to as a matter off fact. They have a pretty solid alibi."

"Unless of course," Poirot said, "the other guests where a part of the murder as well."

Japp laughed, "It wouldn't be the first time, eh Poirot."

"No my friend, it would not," Poirot answered with a small smile.

* * *

Chapter 4: Jealousy

Hastings was enraged. He wanted to strangle that woman, that hussy. How dare she be every thing he could never be and apparently have what he never could.

The two nieces were completely charming and the oldest found Poirot delightful. It turned out that neither had any thing to do with the murder and the case was quickly rapped up with the help of Poirot. Unfortunately for Hastings it was not the last time Poirot would see the nieces.

Miss Laura Brown had charmed Hercule Poirot, she found him fascinating. It made Hastings blood boil. He saw less and less of his friend. It came to the point were Hastings took lodges else were before he did something he would regret.

Hastings felt adrift. His anchor was gone and he became depressed. He knew it was hopeless from the start. Poirot would never look at him the way he looked at Poirot. He was nothing to look at, not very charming, his wit was not sharp, the only thing in his favor was the ability to make Poirot laugh. Of course it was usually at his own expense but he did not care.

He could live watching his friend be with someone else and it was not as if there were wedding bells in the air. The two were just friends at the moment but he hardly saw him any more. He had lost his best friend and there was nothing he could do about it.

In his depressed state, Hastings went out drinking. It was probably not the wisest thing he could do. After the pub had closed for the night, Hastings walked the streets of London quite drunk. There wasn't a cab in sight. He walked over a cobble bridge and stopped in the middle. He looked down into the murky water. He could see the stars in the sky and the full moon reflected back at him.

He wasn't thinking. Not only was he full of liquir but a dark cloud was over his head. He climbed up onto the side of the bridge and sat there looking at the moon. He always wanted to go to the moon. Ever since he was a child he thought the man on the moon must be so lonely up there by himself with the stars close by but out of reach. Not one thought passed through his head as he pushed off. There was a splash of water and a ripple went over the reflection of the moon.

* * *

Chapter 5: Hospital

Poirot was awakened by the telephone early in the morning. After answering it he put the phone done in shock. His Hastings was in the hospital. They had pulled him from the river. He was lucky to be alive. Hastings had not yet woken. The police did not know if it was accidental or deliberate. If deliberate did Hastings jump or was he pushed. Poirot dressed in a hurry and left a note for Miss Lemon. Japp would soon be here to take him to Hastings.

Poirot entered the ward and walked quickly to Hastings side. He was so pale and still against the hospital bed. Poirot sat in the chair by the bed and took Hastings hand. It was so cold. Hastings was like a block of ice.

He sat there till Hastings woke several hours latter.

* * *

Hastings woke groggy at first but his head soon cleared. Where was he, he was disoriented. He noticed some one was holding his hand. He opened his eyes and gazed into Poirot's eyes. His friend was worried but why, and then he remembered the bar, the water ow, god what had he done. He turned his head away from Poirot.

"Hastings, my friend it is alright you are safe. Tell me please what? what has occurred? Why where you in the river, my Hastings?"

Hastings could not answer. What could he say. That he had too much to drink and fell in the river. No, Poirot would not believe that. His friend would find out the truth and when he found out he would be disgusted with him. No matter what he would loose his friend. It would be best not to answer .Perhaps in time he could regain his friendship but he didn't have a chance if Poirot learned the truth.

Poirot watched Hastings but his friend did not speak. Hastings drifted off to sleep.

Poor Hastings, Poirot thought. His mind is in anguish. How could I have not seen this? His friend could not help himself, therefore Poirot would help him. Even if his friend would not except it. Yes, he would find away to help him, he sat back further in his chair and put his little gray cells to work.

First, how did he not notice his friend sinking into one of his dark moods? He had always noticed before and taking proper steps. Ah, Miss Brown, he thought, Hasting has been avoiding her. A delightful young woman that he had hoped his friend would notice. But alas he had not. Was that why he changed lodgings? Surely, not, did Hasting not know he was more important to Poirot than Miss Brown? Why did he not say anything, if he disliked the woman so much?

Then Poirot's face paled. Hasting could not have thought that he was interested in the young woman, surely not. Poirot squeezed Hastings hand. He was an old fool. Of course Hasting thought that. Had he not given that impression while he was trying to interest Hasting in her.

Now that he was thinking clearly. He knew why his friend had moved out and why he had not seen him as often. But that did not tell him why Hasting was in that river.

"Hasting, my friend, "said Poirot, "you have been neglecting me. Really, if you did not wish to court Miss Brown you should have told me. Miss Lemon thought you two would get on."

Hasting turned and looked at Poirot as if he was crazy. "What in the world gave you the impression that I tolerated that woman much less wanted to spend more time with her?"

Poirot smiled, "She was a woman, was she not."

Hasting was furious. His best friend, the genius was an idiot.

Poirot was taken aback. He had never seen his Hasting so angry before, "Arthur?"

His name, Hercule had never said it to him before. It drained the anger from him. It left him feeling empty. He had nothing left. Might as well finish it, he thought. Then he could return to the river and perhaps be at peace.

Hasting closed his eyes and with drew his hand from Poirots. "Hercule, you are an idiot. I love you, am in love with you. But you have nothing to worry about. Next time I visit the river, I wont be drunk enough to botch the job."

Poiort could not believe his ears. It was he who was now furious, "No, my Hasting. The river is the last place I will allow you to go. Once, the doctors have released you.. I will take you home. Do not question this my Hasting. It will be quite some time before I let you out of my sight again."

Hasting was confused, "I don't understand."

That was when his friend began to curse him in his native language. At least he thought Piorot was curseing. He was speaking much to fast. He only understood a few words here and there.

Hasting finally had enough. He had to know. So he asked his friend, "Poirot does this mean you don't hate me?"

Piorot was taken aback again that day, "Hate you, Hasting how could you ever think I could hate you?"

Hasting couldn't help himself. He began to cry, quitly at first and than sobbing for all he was.

Poirot gathered his dear Hasting in his arms and allowed him to cry on his shoulder, "There, there my Hasting," he said while rubbing circles on Hasting's back, "all will be well. I promise you. Arthur, all will be well."


End file.
